


In Bloom

by FrenchCaresse



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Dildos, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchCaresse/pseuds/FrenchCaresse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twikink Fest entry.</p>
<p>Response to a prompt requesting stamen!kink that somehow turned all fluffy and romantic... and femme-slashy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> My original impulse on reading the prompt was gigantic flowers going around impaling everyone on their monster stamen. I think I would have been more comfortable with that story line. I’m a bit freaked out to have written femme-slash.
> 
> I don’t write femme-slash. I have never even READ femme-slash.
> 
> Oh well, I've learned that when a story decides to go an unexpected way, it's best just to go with it...
> 
> Many many many thanks to my Beta Laverett for stepping out of HER comfort zone too!

@;-`-,--- @;-`-,--- @;-`-,--- @;-`-,--- @;-`-,---

I hate flowers.

And I hate dresses.

And I hate motherfucking ‘’Spring Festival’’ shows that steal my florist girlfriend.

I am not a girly girl. My name is Mary-Alice, but everyone calls me Al. I’m a proud tomboy, with short spiky hair and a motorcycle. I design menswear. I DON’T do flowing sheer gowns or shimmery evening dresses. What I do with those is tear them off to reveal the sumptuous flesh beneath.

So how exactly did Esme convince me to make a wedding dress? A wedding dress made of FRESH FLOWERS???

I might pretend it’s for her flower shop business; there is no doubt the piece will be the talk of the Spring Festival. Or, I might say she played dirty by appealing to my feminist activist self, insisting that since I refused to make the gown for anyone else, she wanted ME to parade down the runway with her. As her groom. Make all the stuffy ladies from the country club tutt tutt at the statement about LGBT marriage rights.

But deep inside, I know I’m doing it because it makes Esme happy. I crave the emotional twist that seeing her eyes sparkle gives me. I crave how her surprised inhales make her luscious breasts heave. And I might grumble and grouch, but I’d do anything for her. I just like to make her work at convincing me. Even after eight years, the girl still has me moonstruck.

My girlfriend loves flowers. She has a gift for arranging them, creating form and movement, balancing colour and texture. Her business is… flourishing. 

Ha! 

Funny. 

I made a joke. To myself. 

Must be flower intoxication.

And while some objective part of me knows why I’m doing this, right this minute, I am about ready to put all those vomit-pink blooms in a blender.

It’s been a long day.

It’s been a really long day, one that began with lugging bucket after bucket of fresh flowers through the freezing air at the ass-crack of dawn. The things weighed a ton, and sloshed water into my boots.

I hate flowers.

And I hate mornings.

And I hate squishy socks and never-ending staircases.

@;-`-,---

The rest of the endless hours passed in hand-stitching bloom after bloom in a blushing cascade down the asymmetric bodice of the organza gown I’d sewn earlier in the week. After the bodice was done, I still had clusters to sew throughout the airy billows of the trailing skirt. I felt almost Zen for a while, just me and my busy hands.

And flowers.

Hundreds and hundreds of them.

I’d never really looked at flowers before. I can’t name the ones Esme brought me, but they were pink; I was immersed in infinite shades of pink, from nearly velvet red to barely pearlescent, just the faintest hint of colour on a white petal. The blooms were a motley sort, smooth or ruffled, speckled with gold or orange, large and small. Each one unique.

It was a tiny bit fascinating, the way the petals wrapped around each other, culminating in a soft hidden core. The folds seemed to spiral towards it, yet at the same time curl over to protect it. Playing coy.

It reminded me of pussy.

Everything reminds me of pussy after weeks of barely getting any. Stupid show organizing.

There were these long things inside. Esme informed me they were stamen. Reproductive organs. And they looked like it. Straining proud and tall, begging for a touch. Like a hard cock.

Too bad I don’t like dick. 

Make that; I don’t like the real, fleshy, attached-to-saggy balls-and-hairy-white-ass-cheeks kind. I have nothing at all against anything phallic that can be inserted into a woman. Esme makes the most delicious sounds when she is being filled… 

Which brings me back to my current frustrated state- I am most definitely not feeling Zen anymore!

I have a surprise for Esme.

I had an artist friend make it for us, to my specifications. I can’t wait to try it. Anticipation is making my almost-non-existent boobs hurt and my belly tingle.

Or maybe that’s just the proximity to Esme’s soft skin. I watch my blunt, black-painted fingernails as I ghost them over her pale inner thigh.

‘’Al… Be nice…’’

Esme’s eyes are pleading, her words are breathy. After barely seeing each other except to crash into bed for a month, being alone together in this closed room is torture. The air is heavy with lust. I can barely breathe.

I did all I could on the mannequin, now I have to fit the dress to my model. Esme, my beautiful sexy model who is staring down at me with dark dark bedroom eyes. She’s practically begging for it. Actually, she’s trying NOT to, and I know it, which just turns me on even more.

Why the hell did I have to make the front of the dress open in an obscene slit, allowing glimpses of Esme’s gorgeous legs??? Did I mention that I hate flowers? The weight they’ve added means the flimsy blossoms threaten to fall with the movement created when she walks.

So, I’ve spent the last hour tacking them more firmly into place. I’m working inches from where I want to bury my face, brushing up against the warm skin of her thighs. Trying to work fast, getting more and more wound up with every casual shift, desire burning through me so fucking bad and knowing I don’t have time to do a single thing about it.

I’m breathing through my mouth now, because I swear I smell Esme’s arousal, mingling with the sweet flower scents. My movements are getting jerky and my hands are fucking shaking. I really, REALLY, hate flowers.

Esme yelps a bit, jerking in surprise.

‘’Ow! Al, you pricked me!’’

‘’Really? I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to. Where? Does it hurt a lot?’’

She shakes her head, blond curls swishing. ‘’ I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.’’

Then I see it.

A thin red trail trickling down her inner thigh… The blood is almost black, winding sinuously in the wake of a rounded droplet.

I don’t think. I react. It’s instinctive; I lean forward and lick it up, following the metallic taste to the soft swell right before her thigh gets smaller again, curving toward her crotch. I drag my tongue up slowly, enjoying the smooth texture; then I gently bite the responsive flesh. She quivers under me, a low moan escaping.

Fuck. I don’t care about the dress, or the flowers, I’m going to satisfy her.

Besides, I hate flowers. 

One of my arms twines around to clutch the back of her leg, supporting me as I rise on my knees. I gently use the other one to part the fabric, revealing what is hidden beneath. She is wearing flesh-toned underwear, and they are soaked. I growl at the visible dark spot. I think I can see moisture glistening on her leg.

Fuuuuccckk!

Just as I lean forward, salivating, my head is yanked back. Really hard. Her nails are digging into my scalp, and it’s impossible to move without losing a handful of hair. I crane my neck, trying to see her face as she scolds me.

‘’Mary-Alice Brandon. Don’t you even dare! You will not ruin all our work. Put a lid on it. We will fuck all night after this if you want to. Just… there’s no time.’’

Fuck, she’s hot.

I’ve never seen her so assertive before. It makes me drench my panties. If I could just stroke my clit a few times with her hand twisting my hair like this, I’m pretty sure I’d come…

Before I can act on the errant thought, the door bursts open and my hell continues.

The make-up guy, Jasper, is there to fix my hair and face. I pout, I hate make-up. I’m not like Esme, in all her glorious feminine sensuality. She may get shy because she isn’t rail-thin like the fashion models, but I love her soft belly and generous curves.

After a lot of wrangling with Jasper, I manage to get away with a very natural look. I think I might be wearing less make-up than he is, so that’s good. His mannerisms are giving me a headache.

My tuxedo is all black, with a white shirt. I wear a single pink bloom on the breast. I pat the pocket; I can feel the weight there. The first part of Esme’s surprise.

@;-`-,---

It seems barely a few minutes later that I’m standing alone at the end of the runway, blinded by the spotlight. The music starts and light suddenly blossoms. I hear oohs and collective whispering from the crowd. A ripple of excitement surges through the seats. I resist the urge to turn around. My heart beats in my ears, awareness that Esme is coming to me making my hands sweat. Esme, dressed as a bride. My bride. My beautiful flowered bride.

Finally, incapable of denying myself any longer, I turn to look.

My girlfriend is about halfway down the runway. I forget to breathe. She is so… perfect… words fail me. The light washes over her, catching in her golden up-do. The flowers bring just the right dash of colour to the pure white gown. She looks like the goddess she is. MY goddess.

Our eyes lock, and we can’t look away. So many promises flow between us, wordless. My chest is tight.

When she finally reaches me, she twirls gracefully, then loops her arm through mine. She moves as if to return backstage, but I hold my ground. Her eyes widen in surprise; this is not part of the choreography. I watch their blue grow darker, before misting with emotion as I pull the small black velvet box from my pocket.

I carefully slide the sparkling diamond onto her finger. I love you. I mouth the words silently.

Her lips tremble and she sniffs, trying to reign herself in as she does the same, adding a simple band on my fourth finger.

My eyes blur, and suddenly I’m overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed with our love, the aching depth of the moment. We can’t get married, not legally, but in that moment I don’t care. Right here, right now, I am promising forever to Esme. I am promising with all my heart. She knows; she is professing her love back at me. It is terribly intimate, yet outrageously public. I know I’m flushed; my face burns and my head spins.

Esme’s warm hand squeezes mine, her ring pressing into my palm as she leads me back towards the stage.

Once we’ve passed the curtain, Esme attacks me in a powerful kiss. The scent of flowers makes my head spin. This time, it is my turn to slow us down, mindful of the dress and the lack of privacy. I place my palms on either side of her face, resisting her efforts to mould our bodies together. Her hands clamp down on my wrists, our foreheads pressed hard against each other as we wait for our wildly thumping hearts to slow.

I breathe deeply, managing a shaky smile. Christ, that was intense.

@;-`-,---

After that glorious shining moment, I am returned to hell.

I float for a bit, not really hearing all the comments and praise, as we circulate through the crowded after-party.

Then I get pulled away from Esme.

And I am still bombarded with well-meaning socialites. I start to get irritated again. I hate functions, the meaningless chatter and the fake smiles. I nod and hum monosyllabic responses, trying to squelch my growing frustration.

Time drags on; I’m too hot in this stuffy jacket. My thoughts keep straying to my other surprise. I try not to fidget as the knot of desire coils in my belly again. God, will this party never end? 

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. Baring my teeth in what I hope passes for a smile, I excuse myself. I hunt down a waiter, and bribe him to get me a pitcher of ice and water. I carry it carefully down the dim corridors of the community center, the hum of the fête growing indistinct the further I go.

I push open the door to the room I found earlier. It is a smallish room, wider than it is long. I guess it must be used for yoga, or ballet. The hardwood floors glisten in the moonlight streaming through the windows, reflecting in the mirrors that line an entire wall.

I head straight to the bag I left there earlier, beside the pile of exercise mats. Anticipation builds again, as I carefully spread the leftover fabric from the dress over the stacked mats, tucking it in around the sides. It cascades beautifully over their edge, turning the indistinct vinyl stack into a romantic (and sanitary) platform.

Placing the pitcher on the floor, I fumble in the bag for my other gift. Carefully pulling it out, I grin at the sight of our new hand-blown glass dildo. I appreciate the heft of it in my hand, the smooth curving shape. It is not exactly heavy, not like the metal anal plug I own. But it is… present… not at all empty-feeling like a synthetic vibrator either.

It is truly a work of art, Edward outdid himself. It is about seven inches long, arching towards the bulbous head. There is a raised spiral coiling along the shaft, the texture promising some interesting sensations… I chose a fleshy pink colour, the glass diffusing it into multiple hues. Like the flowers on Esme’s wedding gown. And there is another flower too, hidden in a clear ball at the base. If I stare directly into the hand-grip, it creates a most magical effect of three- dimensional purple petals blossoming inside…

It’s perfect.

@;-`-,---

Minutes later, I’m returning to the room again, dragging a willing Esme with me. She laughs and stumbles, trying to hold the long dress out of her way to match my rapid steps. She reaches for me beseechingly, but I continue to back away. I know that the instant we touch, that very spot is where we’ll fuck. I haven’t prepared all this to end up having sex against the door. Or the ballet bar. Although that could prove interesting…

‘’Come here, Esme. I have a surprise for you, love… ‘’My voice is rough, and I can’t be bothered to force it into a less sultry tone.

‘’Oh, Al. It’s beautiful!’’ She sighs, joining me by the platform.

Finally, after a day of torture, we kiss. It’s savage and heavenly. Our bodies collide, twisting together in a sinuous rhythm. Our sounds fill the air, grunts and moans, barely restrained. We’ve denied ourselves for too long, this is going to be fucking quick.

Esme pushes the jacket off me, fumbling with my shirt buttons. I hinder her more than I help, pressing a leg hard between her thighs, giving us the friction we desperately need. She clutches at me, whining.

The scent of the flowers is stronger now, heady. They are undoubtedly getting crushed and squashed. Good riddance. I hate flowers.

If I could, if I had the patience, I would take the dress off of her. But it’s tight-fitting, and well sewn- I should know, and won’t be easy to remove.

Hungry for naked flesh, needing more, I try to lift her onto the mats.

My girlfriend helps, sitting on the edge and glaring impatiently at me. She is luminous in the moonlight, tendrils of soft hair coiling out from her sweeping knot. I am at eye-level with her breasts, and nudge the right one out of the dress. I lick and drag my teeth over her nipple, revelling in her groan; it’s so wanton and needy, all for me. In the dim light, her areola looks the same colour as the flowers still draping obliquely over her other breast. 

‘’Al, I need you baby. Please. I can’t wait anymore. No more teasing. Make me cum! Pleeaaasssee…’’ Esme’s voice is unsteady, and it does me in.

I push her to a lying position, roughly parting the front of the skirt. I think I hear fabric rip. Petals bruise and sag, their heady aroma filling the air.

I don’t care, I want a different flower. I seek one that is hidden underneath all those flashy blooms. It’s a secret flower, whose heady scent is more addictive than any other.

Esme’s flower.

MY flower.

Discarding the soaked panties, I finally get to taste her.

‘’Aaaaah!’’

The sound is deep-throated and makes me shiver. I lick her from back to front in long swipes, feeling her belly jump whenever I pause at her clit. So beautiful. She’s so close…

But I don’t want her to come just yet.

I still have a surprise.

It takes Esme a few seconds to realize I’ve stopped. I put them to profit and hurriedly pull my shirt all the way off, and debate whether to leave my red lace bra on.

Esme’s frustrated ‘’Alice!’’as she pushes herself up on her elbow decides for me. Fuck my bra and pants, they’re staying on for now.

Bending over, I pull the dildo from where it was waiting in the pitcher of ice-cold water. Esme sluggishly tries to decipher the unexpected sloshing sound, still dazed with need. I quickly stand up again and…

‘’Ah ! Ah ! ALICE! Fuck…. Ah! Co-cold! Arfgh. Hmmff.’’

My lover squirms magnificently, torn between getting away from the cold and needing to impale herself deeper. I didn’t prepare her at all, not even inserting a finger into her pussy. The sudden intrusion must feel huge. Yet she is so wet, I had absolutely no trouble at all sliding it deep in one plunging swoop.

Esme’s back arches, her eyes showing white all around before going glassy as her orgasm rips through her. She trashes, mouth open and head pitched back. The flowery fragrance washes over me in a fresh wave as more of the dress is ruined. I can feel her inner muscles clamping, trying to push the freezing dildo out. I hold it in deep as she starts to come down.

Barely letting her catch her breath, I straddle her strong thigh and start fucking her for real. I sink in smoothly; deep punishing thrusts, twisting my wrist to maximize the effect of the glass spiral. The double ball at the base makes it easy to maneuver, and I quickly find a good rhythm. I work her steadily, squishing sounds filling the air as the glass column warms and her pleasure leaks over my hand.

Esme is panting, incoherently begging me ‘’Fuck yes, Oh God, More!’’

I grip the flowered base and comply. I am vaguely aware of electric shocks of desire shooting through me as I grind shamelessly against her leg. I’m going to come and goddamn soon.

I focus on Esme, as her pleasure wanes and crests repeatedly in the silvery moonlight, drinking in her sounds, her smells. I memorize how she looks, in complete abandon for me.

Eventually, one of her hands twists into the fabric beside her, and she flings the other over her face. With a final deep inhale that makes her breasts swell, her body locks down as she screams ’’ALICE!’’

And it all crashes over me then; the long wait, all the anticipation. The motherfucking flowers. The blown-glass dildo. Our almost-wedding. I am blinded by the pleasure that tears through me. It is primitive and deep. Powerful. Inevitable.

Completion.

I ride the orgasm, finally collapsing in a spent heap on top of Esme.

We are covered in sweat and panting rapidly. As my heartbeat slows, I feel hot tears start to trickle down my cheeks. I can’t, I don’t want to stop them. They bring peace. Love. They flow freely, falling onto the smashed petals of my love’s corsage.

Esme strokes my back, wordlessly understanding that this, this excess emotion, whatever it is, needs to come out...

‘’I love you, Alice’’ she whispers. ‘’Always!’’

‘’I love you too, Esme.’’ I answer softly. ‘’ My beautiful flower!’’

@;-`-,---

Fuck, she might be turning me into a real girl.

Maybe flowers aren’t so bad after all!!!

Not that I’ll ever tell her…

@;-`-,--- @;-`-,--- @;-`-,--- @;-`-,--- @;-`-,---

**Author's Note:**

> So, I kinda like spunky lesbian Alice, even if she was really bossy about having me write her story. And then turned all romantic when this is supposed to be PWP… NOTHING about this story went as I expected… Check out the inspiration for Alice’s hand-blown glass dildo here:
> 
> www.phallixglass.com/products/description.php?id=da2


End file.
